“Girls, come to order!” shouted Hilda Bretherton in a somewhat disorderly tone.
“How can we come to order without a president?” queried a rosy-cheeked, roly-poly damsel answering to the name of Puddy Kennett.
“I elect Prue Shaftsbury!” screamed Hilda above the merry din of voices.
“You can't elect—you simply nominate,” said Prue.
“I second the motion,” said Nannie Branscome,... more...

A while ago I came across a newspaper clipping—a recipe written by a Baltimore lady—that had long lain dormant in my desk. It ran as follows:
“A great many husbands are spoiled by mismanagement. Some women go about it as if their husbands were bladders, and blow them up; others keep them constantly in hot water; others let them freeze, by their carelessness and indifference. Some keep them in a stew, by irritating ways and... more...